


As Sweet as Lemoncakes

by lady__sansa_stark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (also of me just being an absolutely terrible person lol), Also Exhibit #2398 of me being aboslutely terrible at coming up with a summary lol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Just a bit of creepy Petyr pov fun, child kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 16:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10364760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady__sansa_stark/pseuds/lady__sansa_stark
Summary: I get excited when I discover something rare (like you)I try to hide it but I can't help but creep and stareI like your aura and I'm pretty sure I love your hair...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Maple" by Hayley Kiyoko.
> 
> [A lot of Petyr being creepy af. This could be taken as a continuation of my “Speak of the Devil” fic, but was written as its own separate story. Whether you think it’s a part 2 or now is up to you.
> 
> (Hayley pls forgive me for turning your song into this creepy thing lol)]

 

            Petyr was _excited_ , to say the least. Excited to have discovered something so beautiful, something so exquisite and impossibly rare – and to keep her all to himself.

            That was definitely the best of it.

            It had consequences, however. So many consequences, each clawing one top of the other, nearly toppling over. So many that Petyr had to put in the effort to ignore the magnanimous shadow lurking just out of site. It was always there. Waiting. Creeping ever closer as the summer days grew shorter and the air brisker. Closing in on him, a heavy press of things even Petyr wasn’t sure about. Fear at being caught. Regret at taking her.

            Was it the right choice? Morally, no, gods no. To _steal_ a child with false hopes of sweeping her away back to her family – even _that_ was pushing the boundaries of human decency. But that wasn’t what Petyr was going to do. He honestly had no intentions of delivering her back to her family, whether they were still been alive or not. That issue of her family was another rather _difficult_ thing he still hadn’t brought up with her. _Tomorrow_ , Petyr would say to himself and to that heavy, lingering shadow. _Tomorrow_ he would tell her her parents and brothers and sister were long dead. And then – tomorrow came. And the next tomorrow. And the next. Still the truth clung dryly to his tongue. Petyr couldn’t bear to see her unhappy, couldn’t bear to see the shining smile and warm eyes turn sour and cold. Couldn’t bear to receive her hatred and silence. Gods, that thought alone hurt him the most, deep in the dark, twisted pit of where his heart lay.

            None of it was right. Petyr knew that, had known it since the moment he entertained the thought of stealing this beautiful starlight from the nightsky. But did it _feel_ like the right choice? Somewhere, yes, it did. And oftentimes, that perverse rightness was what kept the fear and regret and uncertainty at bay just long enough to pretend like they didn’t exist at all.

            Right now was one of those moments.

            Petyr watched as Sansa nibbled on the lemoncake he had bought her. She took small bites – not to be cautious, but to savor it. But hardly because it was a once-in-a-blue-moon treat. So many lemoncakes and sweets Petyr had bought her these past weeks, so many clothes and gifts and frivolous things they often left behind in the previous town. Sansa could ask Petyr for the impossible, and he would set ruin to the laws of man and gods to give her what she wanted.

            Well, aside from delivering her away from him. That might be the one impossible thing he wasn’t sure he could deliver. And if she did ask for it? Petyr still hadn’t decided what he _would_ do should Sansa say sweetly and curtly: “I don’t want to be around you anymore.” He couldn’t let this relationship (or mockery thereof) get to that point. He wouldn’t.

            Sansa was admiring the park: the long stretches of grass, the fountains shooting water high into the sky, the way the towering city seemed so far away. The buildings didn’t look real, so out of place amongst all the green. She sat on the edge of the bench, swinging her legs, soaking up the world with her innocent blue eyes mirroring the sky above. But not mirroring – the sky was a pale thing, a pale imitation to the true beauty of nature lying upon Sansa’s face. The early morning sun fell through gaps in the trees above, casting swaying shadows across her skin. Such perfect skin, creamy and smooth. He’d already ran his fingers up and down her back this morning, and Petyr was itching to feel her again. His fingers were insatiable. His whole body hungered for her, and no amount of tasting her – with eyes or hands or tongue – could sate it.

            Minutes stretched by that Sansa sat and stared at the landscape before them. And Petyr stared only at her. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop the natural draw of his eyes upon her, couldn’t stop the natural desire of his body to be close, to be closer than Petyr was now. A foot separated them, and gods it felt like a mile.

            It was madness. Torture.

            “Where are we going today, father?” she asked, finishing the sweet in a final bite.

            She turned her attention from the spraying jets of water towards Petyr. And there – just left of her mouth was a stray smear of lemon custard. Her lips, too, were faintly caked in powdered sugar. Sansa stared at Petyr, her mouth in an irresistible pout, _begging_ him to set right the mess she left.

            _Oh_ , but what a shame they were in public. A shame to instead wipe at the errant sweetness with a thumb – and not to clean her cheek and lips with a kiss. Not to savor the lingering tartness of lemons on her skin, and then discover whether her own tongue was similarly sweet.

            “All better, Alayne.” He smiled at her, and after a moment’s confusion flashing upon her face, Sansa did too. She had forgotten again her name. It was still new to her, this _game_ he let her in on. On this make-believe game of them needing secret identities and names as they travel to and fro Westeros.

            Petyr had considered going so far as dyeing her hair to match his (without the streaks of grey, of course). But as soon as that notion entered his mind he swatted it away. He would soon rather lose Sansa entirely than to rid himself of her auburn curls.  

            He tried to remember the question Sansa asked before Petyr got sidetracked. His mind dragged itself through the dark hunger into a semblance of cognizance, remembering. Petyr smiled again, a true thing he saved only for Sansa (though the truth of his smile was hardly _kind_ ). “I think we should buy you a new gown for dinner tonight. Perhaps even an entire outfit. How does that sound, Alayne?”

            Sansa’s face lightened into pure elation. There was a certain softness to her features, a certain lightness that he thought only he could bring out of her. Petyr saw it for only a moment before she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, that sounds wonderful, father! Will it be just as lovely as the gown before?”

            Petyr wrapped an arm around her waist, breathing in the warmth of sunlight in her hair. “Even lovelier, sweetling.” His fingers pressed into her, pulling her slightly closer. Petyr imagined pulling her on top of him, setting those long, lithe legs to straddle his hips. Imagined sliding his fingers beneath the thin dress and exploring (again) every inch of her skin. And then imagined the cries of horror as passersby witnessed a father being rather _unfatherly_ towards his kin. He couldn’t help the twitch of his cock at the wicked thoughts. Part of Petyr hoped Sansa couldn’t feel the growing hardness between his thighs – and part of him hoped she did. “Only the loveliest gowns for the loveliest daughter.”

            He ran his other hand through her soft curls in what he hoped could be taken as a fatherly gesture (it likely wasn’t). Shortly after, they meandered through the park, Sansa skipping ahead and back around Petyr in childish excitement. She stopped to pet a couple’s dog, to the displeasure of Petyr having to make small talk.

            Morning turned into afternoon. All the while, the sun seemed to focus on Sansa despite the infinite other things in the world. Seemed to set Sansa glowing into the radiant creature she was. Like Petyr, even the natural world was impossibly drawn towards her.

            Petyr brought Sansa to the finest clothing stores in the city, as he did in each town they stopped in. At first he meant only to buy her a simple (but elegant) gown, but it seemed a waste _only_ to buy the dress. They wandered from store to store, picking out shoes that matched and made her legs even that much longer; trying out different earrings and necklaces and bracelets until finally deciding on a simple silver chain that fell just shy of her budding breasts. On and on they went, new purchases hanging off of his arms, a smile growing wider and wider on Sansa’s soft lips. Her laughter trailed behind them as they went, the sweetest sound.

            Petyr laughed at himself, at the Petyr of three months ago. Gods, if only his past self had known just how completely _deep_ he would be in the vision that was Sansa Stark, perhaps he wouldn’t have thrown himself into her. Perhaps he wouldn’t have dug through the trash to find out if the cup she had thrown away had her name on it (it did, and it was a lemon smoothie). Perhaps he wouldn’t have whisked a child into a state of blissful ignorance instead of telling her she was the last wolf of Westeros.

            Perhaps. But even in the endless _what ifs_ clanging around the twin shadows of _fear_ and _regret_ , Petyr was sure he still would have done what he did.

            It wasn’t until the orange rays of evening crept between the buildings did they finally return to their hotel, leaden with purchases and laughter. Petyr changed out of his clothes into new ones, the deep emerald tie Sansa had bought him (or rather, convinced him to buying for himself) sat in stark contrast to the blacks and greys. He couldn’t help but finger the fabric as he called to confirm their reservation. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought that Sansa might _care_ for him. Not in the same wicked way that he did her, but in her own childish way. Affection for a father, whether true or not. Kindness for a man that would tear the world apart for her, to be with her.

            And yes, maybe also affection in the same wicked way that he craved for her.

            He barely heard the whisper of the door open above the crashing thoughts. Petyr turned only to have his breath caught; only to have his heart frozen in awe.

            Sansa was _beautiful_. Ethereal. A goddess made flesh, made of roiling oceans and unquenchable fires and silver moonlight. A goddess made for _him_.

            The gown was ivory and silver, tendrils of glistening snow circling around the bodice and into the sheer folds falling inches from the ground. The thin chain of silver he had bought was twinned with another necklace, one that Petyr hadn’t seen before. It was just as slim and just as silver, with a single teardrop emerald hanging in the hollow of her collarbone.

            Petyr was hardly a religious man, but he felt the innate need to fall to his knees and pray. To the gods for blessing him with her. To his past self for not passing up the opportunity. To _Sansa_ herself.

            He didn’t, not yet. Tonight he would fall to his knees and worship his goddess in every way conceivable. Instead, Petyr managed a quiet, “Beautiful,” before closing the distance between them. He stole the smile from her face with his lips, tangling his fingers in the neat waves of her hair. He could still feel it – the smile, the breathless laughs Sansa let loose into him. She pressed her body into Petyr’s, the emerald at her neck kissing the silken emerald wrapped around his.

            And Petyr was right – she tasted as sweet as lemoncakes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Just a quick (creepy) thing to get back into writing. Originally this was going to follow the lyrics more, but I shortened it up a bit (a lot). I think I still got the gist of ‘Petyr is 100000% creeper sleaze that is weak/possessive when it comes to Sansa’ anyways lol.
> 
> I hope you liked it! :) ]


End file.
